


Out of Control

by heeroluva



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Aliens Make Them Do It, Blood, Episode: s02e08 Conversion, Iratus, Iratus-mutated Sheppard, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-16
Updated: 2012-04-16
Packaged: 2017-11-03 18:11:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/384354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/pseuds/heeroluva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While John barely acknowledges his desires for Ronon, his bug counterpart has no such qualms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Control

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kimberlite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimberlite/gifts).



It, the bug, the alien piece of John, wanted blood, to kill, to eat and gorge itself, but there was just barely enough of him left to rein it in, twisting and warping it until it wasn’t quite so destructive but not any less heinous. John had used his last bit of lucidity to get them to lock him up after what he’d almost done to Teyla. John had thought that was the end of it as he’d been trappedin his cell, fascinated by the smells and the things he could see. The changes in his body hadn’t interested the majority of him, other than as an annoyance as he itched as the chitin spread across him.

Sounds emerged from his mouth though it didn’t move — chittering and clicks that were beyond human vocal cords — his throat pulsing strangely as his changing biology went to work. Lonely, the bug part of John was lonely, locked in his cell, the human guard out of sight. The bugs were hive creatures, rarely straying far from the nest. But there were no others around, none that he could sense. John’s own loneliness was dug up, the self-enforced celibacy since he’d come to Atlantis, unwilling to compromise relationships because he couldn’t keep his cock in his pants. Even the distance with the rest of the military — Marines who had grudgingly come to respect their Air Force leader, but John was never one of them, always on the outside — and his friends were partially of his own making, fear of being close almost as bad as the fear of being alone.

Ronon was the one John couldn’t admit to himself that he wanted. Teyla had been close, convenient. But the bug had no problem drawing on that want, feeding on it, until that was all that mattered. When the guard had come to feed him, John had played innocent, faking sleep. The man never knew what hit him. John had tried to fight it, hating himself as his own desires were used against him, as it latched onto the image of Ronon. It hadn’t been hard to find him as it hadn’t taken the others long to notice that John had escaped and they were already searching, gathering in the center of Atlantis.

Tackling Ronon into a wall, he knocked the blaster out of the bigger man’s hands, sending it skittering down the hallway. Ronon fought him, but John was stronger and faster than him like this, and Ronon could do little as John pushed him into an unused room, Atlantis still acknowledging his mental orders.

The first draw of blood was unintentional as he tore at Ronon’s clothes. When the scent hit his nose, John had leaned in, licking at it. More cuts appeared after that, purposeful movement that brought more of that ambrosia forth. A small part of John, the part of him that was still rational and aware, screamed. This wasn’t him, couldn’t be him. He couldn’t be doing this, but he was. He watched with horror and a little bit of fascination as his thick black nails, almost claw-like, scraped along dark skin, leaving blood to well in their path. John knew that this was wrong, but the bigger part, the part that was John, the dark part that he kept hidden and trapped away, and something else that definitely wasn’t him, that was alien and horrific, wanted this.

And if that wasn’t good enough, sinking his cock into that tight body was the best thing he’d ever felt, the pleasure overcoming the blood. The rest of John’s memory fragmented there, bits and pieces of Ronon’s moaning, words that he couldn’t understand, pleading for more, to stop, it didn’t matter.

John remembered that when the orgasm finally hit and the instinct to bite took over, Ronon had enough sense of mind to push his head away. If it had been any earlier, John might have reacted badly, but he was too lost in the pleasure to care. And when it was over, they were both streaked in blood and cum, turning John’s blue skin purple and standing out starkly against Ronon’s own golden skin.

Most bugs never mated, but those that did, did so with queens, their loyalty to her increasing tenfold after the fact. John wasn’t really a bug, and Ronon certainly wasn’t his queen, but in all the ways that mattered it was close enough.

When they were found, John was sleeping, wrapped around what was his, Ronon having given up attempting to escape and fallen into a sleep of his own. Upon waking, John screeched, a horrible sound that raised the hairs on the back of everyone’s neck that heard as he realized that he was alone. Alone. Alone. Alone. _Alone._ He kept on until finally they sedated him.

Waking again, John’s throat twitched, chittering in an attempt to comfort himself before the scent of what was his hit him, and John was across the room. The impact with the force field sent him flying into the opposite wall, but it didn’t faze him. Rushing forward, John stopped as close as he could to it without getting shocked, his eyes searching the shadows outside his cell. Not seeing him, John began screeching again. It wasn’t even a minute later before Ronon appeared, moving stiff and slowly.

John immediately when quiet, still, watching, waiting, hoping he was going to be let out. But Ronon didn’t come any closer, standing farther away than John would have liked. He spoke, but John was too far gone to understand the words. Finally frustrated, mere moments later Ronon let. John shrieked and when the tranq dart hit him, he almost welcomed the oblivion it brought.

This time when John woke, he wasn’t alone. Sitting in a chair pulled close to the other side of the force field sat Ronon, watching him. His face was stony, his expression unreadable had John even had the ability to read human faces anymore. John surged forward, expected the shock, but when he didn’t receive more than a small buzzing along his skin he pressed up against it. Throat clicking, John tried to beg, tried to ask why Ronon was out there and he was in here.

This time would Ronon spoke, John recognized some words: bugs and cure and cave. Ronon rose and move forward. Soldiers suddenly entered the hall behind Ronon, guns drawn on John. John hissed at them. Ronon held up cuffs, and John looked between them and Ronon, barely understanding that if he did it that meant freedom of a sort. John backed up, and the force field fell. When it did, John leapt forward, wanting to be close to his own, but a gun stopped him. John chattered in confusion but didn’t fight it as the cuffs were clasped around his wrists, comfortably tight. John didn’t remember much after that, just bits of Ronon — Ronon was everything — and the cave with the bugs, like him but not. There was nothing else like him.

There was nothing until he woke up in the hospital wing, still blue, but very much in control of himself. As soon as he’d been released John ran, hiding. The blue didn’t fade, didn’t wash off no matter how hard he scrubbed. The chitin slowly peeled off, a slow and painful process until only small bits lined his arm, reminiscent of iridescent scales. His eyes, while no longer yellow, were still slitted. His sense of sight and smell were still increased. And the notion that Ronon was his was as strong as ever.

It was Ronon that cornered John in a tower during his run. John did a lot of running these days. John could have fought him, could have gotten away had he been willing to hurt Ronon, but John had done more than enough of that. Flashing back to the blood and pleasure left John half-hard and nauseated.

“Enough!” Ronon rumbled, the words not loud, but full of command. “It’s time for you to face this.”

“Ronon, I—”

“You don’t get to talk. Not until I’ve said my piece. What you did. It wasn’t you. I knew that. I could have fought, could have made it worse, but I knew it would have been worse for you. There’s nothing to forgive, John.”

John just blinked at him. Out of all the ways that he’d expected this confrontation, it was nothing like this. “How can you see me and now…”

Ronon grinned, wide and predatory. “Blue suits you.” Stalking forward, he said. “Let’s start over.”

“Start over?” John whispered, throat dry, cock hard. There was no way that Ronon could be implying what John thought he was, but the scent of arousal growing thick in the air wasn’t just his own.

Ronon’s answer was a kiss.


End file.
